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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111494">Resurgence</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossbows_and_moonshine/pseuds/Crossbows_and_moonshine'>Crossbows_and_moonshine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sons of Anarchy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Kinda, Talk of Suicide, dont ask, fluff?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:41:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111494</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossbows_and_moonshine/pseuds/Crossbows_and_moonshine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>With all loose ends tied up, Jax is ready to end it all. But fate had other things in mind when he finds a broken soul that calls to his own.</p><p>"She was fractured. Completely broken. Wild and untamed in her pain. And something inside of him connected with that."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jax Teller/Original Character(s), Jax Teller/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>A/N; In between getting to my requests and chipping away at my many Jax/OC fics, this idea came to me. Figured I’d just get it out. No idea what to do with it so just did a one-shot. If people were interested enough, I could make it into more.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>------------------------------</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘They say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite’</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grief is a volatile thing. You can either force yourself to feel all the treacherous pain and see if you come out the other side. If you did, it won't be unscathed and you’d be forever branded by the loss you endure. Or you could let it consume you. Let it drive you crazy and eat you alive until it feels like there's nothing left of your soul. Tara was everything to him. He loved her more than he ever thought possible and he’d destroyed her. He’d watched how she changed over the years because of him and the club. Watched how he ruined her and broke her heart over and over again. But selfishness kept them together. Stopped him from freeing her binds to him that was killing her. And now she was dead. At the hands of his own mother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was drowning in grief. He’d experienced way too much of it in his life, although it was hardly unexpected given his legacy. Thomas, his dad, Opie, Tara, his mom. He had loved his mom so fiercely, so loyally. The fact she had been the one to take the mother of his kids from him had been the deepest sense of betrayal he’d ever felt. Killing her should have been easy. After all, it was retribution for the vile deed she had done. But it cut him deep. To take the life of the one who gave life to him. There was no turning back now. There was no other way to run with the mess his life had become. He couldn't do this anymore. He didn't want this for his boys. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now everything was set in motion. All loose ends tied up with the club so Chibs could run them right. His boys with Wendy and Nero so they never had to live the life he was forced into. It was time. He was done. He had nothing left to do here now and it was ironic how he was following in his father's footsteps so closely. Soon he’d be reunited with Tara, or maybe he wouldn't. He didn't really know what the afterlife was like. Didn't know if his soul would ever see hers again. Maybe she wouldn't even want to see him even if it was possible. His mom might have shoved that damn fork into her skull but he had been the one to kill her. He was the one who hammered every fucking nail into her coffin. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His dad's bike purred beneath him as he drove. He wanted one last ride around before he ended things. The finality of everything made him feel strange. In one way he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. The rest of him was just scared of what would follow if he was honest. He rode slow, taking in the sights as he did. It was after all the last time he’d get to see them. But as he drove down the road, he saw a lone figure standing next to the bridge that overlooked the river. It was a decent drop down to the murky waters below. For some reason, something inside of him made him slow to a stop on the other side of the road as his eyes watched her. There was a backpack on the floor next to her, an envelope pinned to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn't sure why he was here staring at the woman's back. Why he felt compelled to get off his bike. Something was in the air, he could taste it. Something in his gut churning as he watched her pale hands gripping the railing. It wasn't like it was any of his business. Hell, he was about to go off and end his life. Why did he need to stop at all? Maybe it was the fact her shoulders were shaking, indicating she was crying. It seemed even right before death he had a saviour complex. Needing to help a damsel in distress. It was ridiculous. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then he saw how her foot came up, pushing up on the railing. It was like time slowed down and the irony wasn't lost on him. He was about to do the same thing to himself so why did his feet start carrying him closer? He knew the pain that caused this type of thing. Carried it around with him himself. People don’t kill themselves on a whim. It's caused by the deepest darkest type of pain. The pain that never lets up. When you hit rock bottom and there's no hope to get back up, no matter how much you grasp and try to claw your way out. It's the deepest pits of hell right here on earth. Where there is no light at the end of the tunnel. He had his reasons for doing it. Reasons that no one could deter him from once he’d made up his mind. So he knew she would have her own reasons. He should respect that since he felt it deep in his bones. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yet as she started hauling herself over the railing, he found himself rushing over and grabbing her, dragging her away from the railing as she shouted and cursed at him. He set her thrashing form back on her feet and then he saw her face for the first time as she whirled around. She was a mess. Mascara running down her pale cheeks. Her dirty blonde hair wavy and in an unkempt high ponytail. But her eyes were the lightest blue he'd ever seen. Glossy and shiny with her tears. But despite the soft colour of them, they burned with such anger and ferocity as she glared at him. Something in them resonated deep within his soul. Wild and animalistic. A wounded animal in agony. A look he knew he’d been wearing since the day he found his wife's lifeless body in his fucking kitchen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They just stared at each other for a moment, none of them knowing what to say. She looked pissed and upset and he was observing her carefully. What could he say that didn’t make him a hypocrite? He was about to go off and do the same thing so what right did he have to stop her? It felt wrong. But it also felt wrong to just walk away and not intervene. Something deep inside of him pulled him to stop and help her. He watched as her eyes drifted across the road to his bike and then back to him. Her chest was heaving, her whole body trembling as her angry eyes settled on him once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to pretend you didn't see me, get on your bike and leave,” she hissed at him. Her pure animosity shocked him if he was honest, but what the fuck did he expect after he thwarted her plans? She was a dainty little thing. Soft curves and a good head shorter. But her voice had been laced with venom that had taken him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can't do that,” he admitted honestly. But why couldn't he? He’d be dead soon enough so it's not like it mattered. Yet something deep within him refused to let him walk away knowing what she was going to do. She scoffed, angrily wiping her eyes as they scorched into his skin. She was definitely a mess, but a beautiful mess nonetheless. She just had this darkness about her. This brokenness that he felt like a punch in the gut.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t your fucking business, so you need to leave,” she stated slowly as her voice shook. He raked his teeth over his bottom lip as he continued to observe her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look… I don't know what shit happened to you, but this isn't the answer,” was he talking to her or was he talking to himself? The words sounded strange coming from his mouth. It was like a sick twist of fate that he was left to deal with this before his own plans. He wondered if someone was up there laughing at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate your concern, but as I said, it's none of your business,” she sneered, making it clear she </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> appreciate his concern. Not one bit. He heaved a sigh, tilting his head and wondering why he was still here, why he was trying to convince her to live. Why was that fair of him? He couldn't bear his own pain and was going to take the easy way out, so why couldn't she?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is my business. I can't just walk away knowin’ what you're about to do. Why don't you come with me? We can ride around for a bit, grab some coffee or some shit,” he started rambling. Really? Now he was changing his plans for her? The fuck was he doing? He was a wanted man and he was just offering to take her somewhere?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why the fuck do you care so much? You don't even know me,” she asked harshly. Her blue eyes were distrustful as she gazed at him and he shifted under her scrutiny. He didn't know how to answer that. He didn't know why he cared. Didn't know why it seemed to bother him deeply that this stranger was going to take her own life. Didn't understand why his determination of taking his own life had waned and been put on the back burner to help this girl. Maybe it was his guilt. Maybe it was the idea of doing one last good deed before he died to atone for his sins. Maybe it was the fear of the reaper and what came next.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something about her though. It wasn't necessarily her beauty, although no one could deny that. She was fractured. Completely broken. Wild and untamed in her pain. And something inside of him connected with that. His soul recognised that pain and it was almost like it latched onto hers. Needing some sort of connection. He saw his own deep pain when he looked in her eyes and in some way it gave him a sick sense of satisfaction he wasn’t the only one hurting so deeply. That he wasn't alone in this type of pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wiped a hand over his face, not knowing what to say to her. But he knew he couldn't leave. He couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in his gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with me. Don’t really know where I’m goin’ yet. But just come, see if it’ll make you feel better. If tomorrow you still feel the same, I’ll let you go and do whatever it is you feel you need to do,” he murmured with pleading eyes. He really had no clue what he was doing. So he was leaving now? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was his plan. Instead of taking his own life, now he was just going to hop on his bike and go who knows where with a stranger. He really didn't know what was going on with him. She watched him carefully. Her blue eyes were still simmering with her anger and pain and he couldn't tear his eyes off her. He could see her thinking about it, her eyes glancing over at his bike again. He’d lied completely to her face. Because even if she did feel the same way tomorrow he wouldn't just be able to let her walk away. He wouldn't be able to just go and end his own life with the guilt of that bothering him. He had plenty of shit to be guilty about that weighed heavy on him. He didn't need one more thing to add to his list. If he could help this chick, maybe it would feel like some sort of closure after all of the bad shit he’d done. He’d have made a difference even to one person. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do I know you're not some kind of murderer or something?” she muttered tensely, pinning him in place with her burning gaze. He couldn't help it when his lips twitched up a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somethin’ tells me you'd still come with me even if I was,” he replied wryly. Maybe it was insensitive to say but it happened anyway. His smile only widened however when a soft snort left her lips and she looked at the floor. Technically he was a murderer. But she didn't really need to know that. His blue eyes stayed glued to her as she blew out a sigh and raked her teeth over her full lower lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, I’ll come. But you’ll leave me alone tomorrow?” she asked carefully. Her anger seemed to have died down a little although he could still see the fire in her eyes. He knew what that was like. It never went away fully. It would always be there, a small flame in the background, just waiting to burst into a raging inferno. He nodded, lying to her once again. He just wanted her to get away from the damn bridge. He felt the relief flood his body that she agreed to come. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't like he had a plan. His plan had been to end it all, not fucking skip town and leave. But oddly enough, he felt at peace with this choice. He knew Tara would want him to help this girl. She’d hated how cold he’d become and the things he did. Always wanted him to change. And now he had the chance to do some good in the world and he was going to fucking take it. He gave her a small smile and she squinted at him. He couldn't help the light laugh that left his lips at her. She was a strange girl and he couldn't help but be intrigued. He wanted to know of her pain. Wanted to know what led her here to this. It was like a morbid curiosity that was brewing inside of him. The darkness that resided inside of him wanted to know of her own darkness. Misery loves company after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, let's go,” he said softly. She nodded, reaching for her backpack. He watched her carefully as she took the envelope and stuffed it in her bag. He hadn't missed how it was labelled</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘for anyone that cares</span>
  </em>
  <span>’. It made his chest ache in a weird way. He’d expected it to have a name on it or something. The way she’d worded it made him feel like she had no one at all and it didn't sit right with him. It made him feel uncomfortable. No matter what he went through in life and the various betrayals he’d been through, he always had people around him to have his back. He couldn't imagine going through the shit he had completely on his own. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They walked over to his dad's bike and he handed her the helmet. She glanced at it for a minute and then back to him before putting it on her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Jax, by the way,” he murmured with a wry smile. She looked at him as she fastened the helmet, looking like she was unsure whether to let him know her name or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Charlotte,” she muttered with a slight nod. He gave her a small smile before climbing on the bike and bringing it to life. She swung her leg and got on behind him. He tried to ignore the strange warmth that flooded his body as her small arms encircled his waist, her hands clasped on his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready?” he asked over the purr of the bike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she replied softly. He felt her rest her head on his back as he pulled away. No destination in mind. Just far the fuck away from both of their problems. He had no idea what the future held for them both. What once was a plan full of finality and an ending, was now uncertain and strange. Yet as he flew down the road with the girl like a wounded animal on his bike, it all felt right. Like everything was in place. Like this was where he was meant to be. His father told him once that things happen and nothing you can do will change them. That you can change the in between and how you get there but the end result would still be the same. Some things are written in the stars. Meant to be. And maybe this was one of those things. Maybe he wasn’t meant to end his life like he’d thought he was. And maybe she wasn't meant to end hers either. Maybe they were meant to cross paths today. The day they both decided they’d had enough. Maybe fate wasn’t quite done with them both just yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.” - Lao Tzu</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>I’d really love to know if you guys want to see more of this one. It’s been fun to throw together and post for you while I work on my others &lt;3</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>----------------------------</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“The phoenix must burn to emerge.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The concept of rebirth is something most people are familiar with. Whether it's reincarnation, a new version of yourself, some kind of metamorphosis of the soul that changes the very core of who you are. But for a resurgence to happen, to be reborn, a death has to occur. Whether that be a literal death or the death of your old self. Of your ego. Of all the things that once made up who you were. Of your past. Depending on who you ask, people would give you different answers on what rebirth means to them. But in the end, the core concept is the same. The death of one thing, to make way for another. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jax was wondering if that’s what he was currently going through. He was in the process of shedding his old self. Like a snake sheds its skin. He wasn't there quite yet. His own change would take a while to complete. Since his original plan of taking his life was now on hold, he was having his own sense of rebirth and trying to break out of the mould he’d spent his life in. SAMCRO was no longer his legacy. Was no longer his life. That was his old self. The one he left back in Charming. Now he was just Jax Teller. A guy who had no fucking clue what he was doing or where he was going. A guy still dealing with grief, a father missing his sons. Part of him had changed yet part of him hadn't. It was like he was stuck in his cocoon, not ready to emerge yet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’d been on the road for around 6 hours now and it was getting dark. He’d wanted to put as much distance between them and Charming as he could. As they were passing a motel next to a diner, he felt her tap his stomach and he almost jumped. He’d been so far into his own head he’d almost forgot about his weird travel companion. Suddenly he felt like such an asshole because, for all he knew, she was starving or was desperate for a piss. He hadn't made one stop yet. He wasn't fully sure where they were apart from the fact it was somewhere in vegas. He pulled into the lot of the motel, killing the engine before she climbed off. He watched her as her eyes darted around, her nimble fingers undoing the helmet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to use the bathroom,” she muttered as she gestured to the diner next door. Yeah, he was an asshole. How long had she been holding onto him wishing he’d stopped for a fucking break? He doubted she was used to riding for long periods of time like he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. You hungry?” he asked softly. Her blue eyes snapped to him then and she licked her lower lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't have any money on me,” she murmured as she shook her head. He got off his bike, narrowing his eyes a little at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That ain’t what I asked,” he countered with a twitch of a smirk. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shifted on her feet and blew out a breath. He was aware she seemed to be desperate for a piss but was using it to his advantage to make her relent and get food. It had been 6 hours since they left and fuck only knows when the last time she ate was.  She looked at him as she nodded reluctantly and a triumphant smile worked its way onto his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go take a piss and I’ll order us some burgers or some shit,” he said firmly as they made their way to the diner. She glared at him a little. He was unsure if it was the mention of her taking a piss or him telling her what to do. Maybe even the fact he’d picked her food. He didn't know but he kept his mouth shut anyway. As they got inside he found a table out of the way in the corner, watching as she slipped off into the bathroom. He sat facing that way so he could make sure she didn’t just fucking up and leave the place. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much but he was worried she’d just go and do something stupid. It was his primal instinct to keep her safe. He couldn't help it. Even if he was keeping her safe from herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waitress came over, all smiles and flirty touches. Didn’t fucking matter where he went it seemed, some shit never changed. He was polite but wasn't interested. It wasn’t that she wasn’t attractive, she was. And he’d been with a few girls since his wife's death that all meant nothing. It was just for the sheer need to take out his frustrations and get some temporary release. They’d all been nameless and faceless. Didn't mean a thing. And he had no intention of adding this waitress to his list. He had bigger things to think about. After ordering their food, Charlotte came back out, her bag still over her shoulder. Her eyes scanned the place until they landed on him and he felt relieved she hadn't planned on running out the door. He hadn't felt in the mood to chase her down. She padded over, settling herself in the seat opposite her and placing her bag on the spare chair. A somewhat uncomfortable silence fell over them. She was looking out of the window, chin propped up by her hand. He wasn't sure if she was purposely not speaking to him. If she was still pissed at him trying to help her or maybe she was always this quiet. The other option was the fact she was clearly battling her own demons. She was a fucking enigma and he couldn’t tear his blue hues off her as she sat there quietly and waited for their food. She seemed to have cleaned her face. The running mascara had now gone although there was some still smudged a little around the underneath of her eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waitress came back over and seemed shocked he had company as she set the plates down. Charlotte turned her eyes to the girl then and Jax smirked inwardly at the interaction. The waitress was clearly a little miffed he had a girl with him and Charlotte was staring at the girl with narrowed eyes almost challengingly. He had no idea what the fuck was going on but he watched amused as the waitress lowered her eyes and gave them a very fake smile. When she walked away, Jax started on his burger but Charlotte was glaring at it tensely. He was about to ask her why she wasn't eating when her eyes snapped up to his. She looked terrified and it shocked the shit out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to leave,” she muttered tensely. His brows raised as he looked at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” he asked warily. Her eyes darted over to the counter where the waitress was and he noticed her looking at them both, whispering to another waitress. His spine stiffened a little. He was well aware he was a wanted man but he doubted anyone outside of Charming was aware of that right now. Especially not some random waitress. When his blue eyes turned back to Charlotte, she was staring at him. She swallowed thickly as she pushed some stray hair behind her ear. Her hands were shaking and it only made him more on edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we just… we need to leave, I’ll tell you outside,” she was practically begging in her tone and he knew it was serious. He nodded, swiping his burger up and dumping some bills on the table to cover their food. He abandoned his fries and he watched as she did the same, grabbing her own burger as they hurried out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they got to his bike he quirked a brow at her, finishing off his burger so they could get the fuck out of dodge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look… you shouldn't be with me. I should just… go somewhere. You're gonna get in trouble and-” she started rambling as her light blue eyes darted every which way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, slow the fuck down. Why would I get in trouble? Are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> in trouble?” he asked tensely as his eyes stared at her worried face intently. When she finally looked at him she looked tearful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m wanted, okay? And I’m not getting into it. But I don't know how far this shit goes, if my face has been on tv. I don't fucking know. But you don't need to get caught up with this,” she insisted. His eyes widened a little at that revelation and he wondered just what the fuck she had done to be a wanted woman, to have her this worried. But before he could say anything, she took off, walking away with her bag slung over her shoulder and her burger in hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Charlotte!” he called out after her, stalking over to her. She didn't even spare him a glance and he grabbed her bag, making her stop in her tracks. She turned to glare at him and he frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ain’t just lettin’ you walk away to do somethin’ stupid. We had a deal, remember? I don’t give a shit if you're wanted. We’ll just go further where no one knows,” he murmured as his eyes softened slightly. She looked like a scared animal ready to bolt and his hand was still gripping her backpack. He half expected her to run off if he didn't have hold of it. She looked conflicted, looking around with her brows furrowed. She looked so troubled. Like she had the weight of the world on her shoulder. He knew that feeling all too well and it left an unpleasant feeling in his chest that this girl was suffering from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? Why are you so insistent on helping me?” her voice was weak as her eyes welled up and he swallowed thickly, shifting on his feet. He didn't know why he fucking cared or why he was so adamant on helping her. It was just a feeling inside of him that wouldn't let up and it was out of his control.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wanna know somethin’? I’m wanted too. And before I saw you on that bridge, I was gonna go off and end my life. I don't know your story and you don't know mine, I ain't expectin’ to share them either. But you’re not fuckin’ alone here, Charlotte. Just let me help you… maybe we can help each other,” he implored. She blinked at him, looking like she was absorbing his words about being wanted and how he’d planned the same as she did. She looked a little shocked before she glanced to the floor. When she looked back at him, her eyes were a little softer. She just nodded, relenting to sticking around. He felt the tension in his shoulders melt away and he gave her a small smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need to eat that so we can go,” he said with a smirk playing on his lips. She glanced at the burger in her hand like she had forgotten about it and it made his smile widen. She nodded again, starting to eat it as they walked back over to his bike. He couldn't help but wonder who the fuck she was. What she had done. In a way, it didn't really matter. It couldn't be worse than the shit he’d done himself. He’d killed people, tortured them. Killed his own fucking mother. He was a monster and he knew he was. He couldn't imagine this girl doing something that bad, but she must have done something. And now she was terrified. It only intensified the need to keep her safe. He didn't really believe in coincidences, but he did believe in fate. This girl was like him in so many ways that it was strange and the fact they ran into each other at such pivotal points in their life wasn't lost on him. He knew there was a reason for them crossing paths and he wanted to find out what it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After she finished her burger quickly, they both got on the bike and he continued to drive. They’d need to stop and sleep soon. He was already bone fucking tired. But he wanted her to feel safer and not like people were out to get her. He wasn't sure if the waitress had noticed her or if she was being paranoid, but it was better to be safe than sorry. And he doubted she’d get sleep if she was worried the cops were going to bust the door down and haul her away. They drove for two more hours, ended up somewhere in fucking Utah. He wasn't sure and he didn't care. It was dark now and he knew if he didn't get some shut-eye, he’d end up crashing. As ironic as it was since his original intentions of his ride, he didn't much feel like dying just then and he had no desire to let the girl clinging onto him go down with him either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He found some shitty motel and pulled into the lot. It would have to do. He got off the bike and she followed suit. When he glanced at her she looked as tired as she did. She was silent as she followed him inside and he approached the desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, you two need a room?” an older woman asked. She looked around 70 with greying hair and Jax gave her a sweet smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just one twin room please,” he murmured politely. Charlotte gave him a look but ignored it. He wasn't going to let her have her own room so she could fuck off into the night. He’d never be able to rest wondering where she was and if she was okay. After he paid and got the key, they went to find their room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really don't trust me, do you?” Charlotte muttered with a slight scowl as they went inside. The room was small. Two beds with a cupboard in between them and a shower in the adjoined bathroom. A small vanity off to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't trust you alone with yourself,” he admitted softly, chucking the key onto the cupboard. She gave him a look, huffing in contempt as she carefully set her backpack on the bed she’d claimed as hers. He sat on the other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna grab a shower,” she murmured, stretching her back a little as he watched her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got spare clothes?” he asked. He only just realised he had nothing with him. Nothing at all. They’d need to find a store tomorrow and grab some spare clothes. He didn't feel like living in this one outfit for however long he was sticking around. He didn’t have much money on him though, it wasn't like he thought he’d need it. But that was a problem for tomorrow. She shook her head and heaved a sigh, instinctively his eyes drifted to her backpack confused. She caught his gaze and she grabbed the bag, setting it inside the bedside cupboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There's no clothes in there,” she muttered tensely. He was confused by her harsh tone or what the fuck was in the bag. But her warning look made him nod, knowing she didn't want to talk about it. He watched her carefully as she went into the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wouldn't be able to sleep until she was done. He had no idea how suicidal she was or what she would do. Instead, he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his kutte. He knew it would be better if he didn’t wear it since he was wanted but it felt like it actually hurt him to put it away. To face the reality of the situation. Besides, he was wanted in Charming. He doubted anyone here even knew about him. He wasn’t ready to let go of that part of himself just yet. He set his kutte carefully over the chair near the small vanity. He stripped off into just his boxers. He wished he had sweats to sleep in, he’d need to buy some. He was too tired for a shower but he figured he’d grab one in the morning before they headed out. They'd go shopping and then keep going and see where they ended up. He wondered if they’d take root somewhere. Wondered what the fuck he was doing and where this was going. It gave him a headache thinking about it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He flopped on the bed, his eyes drifting to the cupboard. He couldn't help but be curious about the backpack. He could hear the shower running as he raked his teeth over his lower lip. He wanted to know more about her. Wanted to know everything and what led her here. Maybe it was a dick move since it wasn't his business, but he sat up, opening the cupboard and grabbing her bag. He sat on the bed as he unzipped it carefully. The first thing he saw was the letter and he set it on the bed next to him. The only thing in the bag was a small wooden box at the bottom of it. He quirked a brow, grabbing it and looking it over. It was locked and had carvings all over it. It suddenly dawned on him it contained ashes and it made his heart seize up. He suddenly felt like a real asshole going through her stuff. There was a small silver plate on it and his blue eyes scanned it as his heart dropped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Emilia Greyson</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>10.20.2012 - 12-13-2014</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Beloved daughter’</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt his throat get dry and his eyes burned a little. This little girl was two when she died. Was this Charlotte's daughter? Sister? He had no clue. He wasn't even sure how old his riding companion was. She looked in her twenties but it was hard to gauge how old. It made his chest ache that this was the only thing she had with her. That she was going to end her life and she’d taken this little girl with her like she was the only thing that mattered. He set the box back in the bag gently, mindful of the fact it was ashes. His eyes darted to the letter before back to the bathroom door. The shower was still running and he knew he was pushing his luck, but he grabbed it anyway. It wasn't sealed so it's not liked she’d ever know. He opened it, unfolding the letter as he looked it over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To anyone that cares,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My name is Charlotte Greyson and I’m a wanted woman. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve been on the run for a month now but I can't take it anymore. I’ve been framed for something I didn't do and I feel like no matter where I turn people are watching me. I admit to one thing, and that’s the murder of the man I used to call my husband. The monster that took away our precious daughter. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The pain I carry with me is too hard to bear. Losing a child is the worst feeling in the world and being chased for her death makes me feel sick. I would never even raise my hand to a child, let alone take their precious life away. I took justice into my own hands, knowing Jeff wouldn't be punished. It's ironic that the police are supposed to protect and serve, yet he saw it fit to kill an innocent child to get back at me. I knew he’d get away with it, I knew what he was capable of. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe it was wrong of me to take retribution into my own hands but my daughter’s death wasn't going to mean nothing. Everyone turned on me. Family and friends. Everyone pointed the finger at me saying I killed them both. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m a murderer. I took Jeff's life and I don't regret it. But I’m not a monster. And the police that are trying to pin this on me need to rot in hell for making this about revenge for their fallen ‘brother’ rather than justice for the little girl who did nothing wrong. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve decided to just end it all. I can’t run for the rest of my life and the loneliness is killing me. Every day I’m haunted by the memories of watching my baby die right in front of me. Hearing her screaming and crying for me to help her. I can't do this anymore. Maybe this letter won't mean shit when it comes down to it. Maybe I’ll forever be remembered as the girl who killed her husband and child. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I want to clear my name. I want to make it known what I did and what I didn't do. I won't be made out to be some demon, taking the blame for what he did. I don't know if I believe in God after all I’ve been through, but if he’s real then Jeff will be burning in hell for his crimes. Maybe I’ll be punished too for taking his life but I have faith I’ll see my little Emmy again one day. And I hope she knows how much I tried to help her, how I made him suffer for what he did. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She was my life. The very reason why I breathed. Without her, my life is meaningless. It means nothing at all. Jeff doesn't get the satisfaction of being the reason I died. I’m doing this so I can be with my daughter once again and be at peace. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do with this letter whatever you wish, but everyone that took part in framing me will see justice one day. You should all start atoning for your sins now before it's too late.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll see you soon, my baby. Mommy loves you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Charlotte</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jax’s hands were shaking as he read the letter, a myriad of emotions flooding his body. The first he felt was sheer heartbreak hearing what she went through. His own pain for his loss was hard enough but all he could think about were his boys. Watching them get killed in front of him, being blamed for it. It made his damaged heart ache dully in his chest. But then the anger set in. The bloodthirst he’d been riddled with since his grief took over. The rage that caused him to kill and torture people after his wife’s death. Charlotte had been through one of the worst pains imaginable and she was being hunted for this. The police were in on it. Her husband was a fucking cop and he’d killed his own child. What kind of sick bastard hurts his own kid? Takes their life? It made him feel physically sick. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was overwhelmed by what he had read and now the haunted look in her eyes made so much more sense. The wounded animalistic side of her. She was a wounded wolf, her pup taken from her. He couldn't even fathom the pain she must be in. And although he felt a twinge of guilt for stopping her plans, stopping her from finding peace, he knew deep down he was supposed to have stopped her. He was supposed to have met her. Part of him even wondered if Tara had a hand in it, getting him to help the girl. He remembered how hard she fought for the boys and getting them out of the life he’d led. Those boys were her life. Just like this girl was Charlotte’s. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was broken out of his depressing thoughts when the shower turned off and he panicked. He quickly folded the letter up, stuffing it back into the envelope. Once it was back in the bag, he carefully put it back in the cupboard and lay down in bed. A few minutes later Charlotte emerged. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her now he knew of her deep pain. She was wearing her tank top and her panties, clearly having nothing to sleep in. He might have appreciated the view if it wasn’t for the current circumstances. She set her jeans on the vanity, her boots near the chair. Her hair was damp and up in a high ponytail and his eyes followed her as she climbed into her bed. He so desperately wanted to tell her he knew. To admit what he’d done. The guilt was gnawing at him. He wanted her to know he believed her, that he didn't think she was a monster. That he was sorry for her loss. But his lips stayed firmly shut because he knew enough to know she wouldn't appreciate him snooping through her shit. Instead, he watched carefully as she lay on her back, blinking up at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn't know how she was even still going. How she’d lasted this long with her pain. He knew the feeling of revenge, the feeling of needing to find retribution. He went hard at the Chinese when he thought they were the ones responsible for his wife’s death and he’d killed his own mother when he found out the truth. He didn't judge her one bit for killing the asshole she married. He wondered what else he’d done. He doubted he’d randomly decided to kill his own kid one day. He no doubt knocked them about a bit at the very least. He wanted to reach out to her and offer her comfort. He was a wounded animal himself and it was like that part of him was clawing at him, trying to get out to hers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was just staring at her for what felt like forever despite the fact he knew he should be sleeping. Suddenly she rolled on her side, her eyes connecting with his. His chest seized up as his eyes locked with hers. It was like he could feel her raw pain as they looked at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You looked through my shit, didn’t you?” she asked bluntly. She didn't sound mad. Her voice was devoid of emotion. He didn’t know how she knew. Maybe it was how he was just watching her with pity in his eyes. Understanding. He wasn't sure. But he couldn't lie to her. She knew and him lying would only fracture any trust they’d built, if there even was any left since he’d gone through her things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice a mere murmur. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again. She stayed silent and he wished he knew what was going on in her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I don't know what to say. I know words are meaningless when you have pain so deep. Nothin’ I say will make you feel better. But I believe you. I don't think you killed her. And that bastard… he deserved to die,” he muttered firmly. She looked slightly shocked before she moved to sit up. He followed suit and they sat facing each other on the beds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she whispered with a shaky voice. She looked tearful and he wondered if he was the first person to believe her version of events. Of course, she could be lying but he highly doubted it. If she killed her daughter she wouldn't be carrying around her ashes. And he felt the raw pain in her letter as he read it, the same pain he saw all over her face. He wasn't sure what to say as he watched her. She was glaring at her hands, her breathing a little heavy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to you?” she asked suddenly, her eyes snapping to his. His furrowed his brow a little, shifting where he sat. She had this way of looking at him, like she was seeing right into his soul. It made him feel weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” he asked curiously. She licked her lower lip, tilting her head slightly as her eyes never left his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have that look in your eyes… you lost someone close to you,” she murmured in reply. It was strange how life worked. He’d been able to connect to her pain back at the bridge without even knowing the extent of her horrors. But he could see in all over her, just as she had done with him. Their grief had recognized each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He nodded, wiping a hand over his face as he thought about his wife. It felt like so much time had passed since her death and yet no time at all. The guilt of not letting her go sooner weighed heavy on him. He should have let her go in the first place. Should have forced her to leave before shit got so messy. It was all his fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… my wife. My mom killed her,” he admitted quietly. His throat felt tight saying it out loud and his mind decided to go back to the memory of him shooting his mother by a rose bush. It made the pain in his chest increase. It was stupid for him to grieve her loss after what she had done but it was his mother. He had loved her with everything he had and he knew deep down her love for him and his boys was what drove her to insanity. He just ruined everything he touched. She frowned, her own pain glimmering in the moonlight that shone through the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That's… I’m sorry,” she murmured softly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The amount of people that had told him they were sorry for his loss was ridiculous and every time it filled him with rage. It always felt so empty and pointless. Like they were saying something they thought they had to say, like it was conditioned in them. But when those words left her lips, he knew she fully meant it. Because she had been through her own pain. She was sorry because she knew how much that pain rips up your soul until it feels like there's nothing left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry too,” he replied sincerely. The air around them felt heavy, like their combined grief was weighing him down. But at the same time, he found a kinship in the strange girl in front of him. He knew so much about her now but also nothing. Yet he didn’t find himself caring. His brothers had carried him through his grief and pain, the betrayal when he found out the truth. But they didn't fully get it. They didn't know that feeling. To have someone you love ripped away from you. To have it be someone you trusted that did it. To be blamed for it. Sure his name was cleared for Tara’s death in the end but it didn't matter. He knew what that felt like. None of them got it, none of them could fathom his unimaginable pain. But Charlotte could. And it soothed him in a way he hadn't expected. Just being there with her knowing they were both wounded and broken made him feel a little better. That he wasn't truly alone. And maybe it was sick of him to enjoy the fact she was hurting. To latch onto her pain. But the sense of someone who truly understood made a sense of calm settle deep in his bones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They didn't speak, they didn't need to. It was like a bond was forming without words. A bond forged through shared pain and grief. A connection of the soul. It probably should have been uncomfortable but it wasn't. They just sat in companionable silence for a moment before she moved to lay down and he did too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Jax,” she murmured sleepily, blinking her light blue eyes at him as she lay on her side. He wondered if she’d choose not to end her life now that she had someone who believed her. Someone on her side. He’d seen the shock and relief wash over her when he told her he believed her. He knew those words had meant everything to the broken girl. He hoped he could show her that she didn’t need to take her own life. But at the same time, it made him wonder about himself. He saw so much of himself in Charlotte. It felt too ironic that he wanted her to live despite her pain yet he had been so ready to do the same and end it all. Because trying to help her see she should still live was also making him face that same reality. That death wasn't the answer. That it wasn't the only choice he had. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been so set in his plan, resolute in his ending. But now he didn't want to opt-out. Because now he had someone who got it. Someone to help. He’d done a lot of bad shit over the years but he also helped a lot of people. He just had this innate built-in need to try and help people who needed it. Once upon a time, he thought he was a good guy. He was under no illusion of what he was now. He knew he was a monster. But maybe a monster could still have a heart. And maybe a monster needed someone with their own darkness to reign them in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He found himself not wanting to leave because that meant leaving her. And he was all she had right now. The only person who believed her. He didn't want to take that away from her. He might not have a clue where the fuck they’d end up or what any of this meant, but he knew deep in his soul it meant fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night, Charlotte,” he replied softly, closing his eyes. He’d never felt so out of control before. He liked having control over everything. To know the next move before he made it. To have shit all laid out. The lack of control he felt over this whole situation was slightly distressing but he also knew there was fuck all he could do about it. Life took him to that bridge before she jumped for a reason and life chose that bridge for her to go to. There was a saying he remembered from John Lennon that was pinging around his brain as he drifted off to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was meant to be right here in some shitty motel in Utah somewhere. Meant to be with this strange girl that was surrounded by darkness and grief much like his own. This was where he was always going to end up and he just had to roll with it and see where the fuck it took them.</span>
</p>
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